


not a bro thing

by verity



Series: sweet dreams are made of this [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Double Penetration, Friendship, Multi, Pack Feels, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can legitimately say this is not a scenario that I have ever imagined in my wildest dreams," Stiles says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a bro thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts), [whiskey_in_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_in_tea/gifts).



> thanks to everyone who has been so encouraging of this series! <3 especially to Scout and Ashe (who beta'd), DAMN YOU.
> 
> content notes: brief but explicit mention of mainstream pornography being objectifying and gross (I need this content note, maybe you do, too!)

"We're going to watch _The Notebook_ ," Lydia says, setting out wine glasses on the coffee table. She has three bottles of Arbor Mist, because her sister is awful and Derek won't let them raid his liquor cabinet. "Then—then we'll see. I brought _Bridges of Madison County_ and _City of Angels_ and—"

"Did you buy wine glasses?" Stiles says, because he's pretty sure the last time he checked the cupboard all Derek had were coffee mugs, mason jars, and a disturbingly large collection of promotional plastic cups from Pizza Hut.

Lydia sniffs. "I'm not drinking wine out of mason jars."

"This isn't wine," Stiles says. "This is, like, one step above Boone's Farm."

They're at the loft because, flatscreen, and also there's the outside chance that Isaac will show up and insist on cuddling. Stiles could use a cuddle. This is his first breakup, and it's the worst breakup ever, because it happened over _gchat_ , _one month into summer break_ , and also it happened to _him_.

Lydia thinks that movies that make you cry are the solution to every emotional problem. As long as he's at least four glasses in by the time they get to _Bridges of Madison County_ , Stiles will probably be okay. "Strawberry White Zinfandel?" He picks up the bottle, waggles his eyebrows. "Blackberry Merlot? Peach Chardonnay?"

"God," Lydia says, visibly torn between disgust and the desire to get as drunk as possible before Stiles starts talking about his feelings. "I don't know."

"Peach it is," Stiles says, twisting open the bottle.

Real alcohol is for losers.

—

Cora comes in when they're at the end of _The Notebook_ , Lydia dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and Stiles sobbing grossly into his sleeve because the box of tissues is too far away. "What," she says. "No, no, this is—did someone—"

"Rosa dumped Stiles." Lydia holds up the bottle of Strawberry Zinfandel. "Want some?"

"…I'll pass," Cora says, but she drops down onto the couch next to Lydia anyway.

"We're watching _Bridges of Madison County_ next," Stiles volunteers.

"No, we're not," Cora says.

—

They're in the middle of a shitty camrip of _Black Widow: Budapest_ when Jen and Isaac come back from a Costco run, carrying a 48-pack of toilet paper and four cases of Coke Zero. "This is the greatest movie I have ever seen," Stiles slurs at Isaac. "It's like, it's even better than—in theaters, like—"

"This is better than the movie," Cora says, jerking her thumb at Stiles.

"I'm offended," he says, head lolling on her shoulder.

Lydia reaches over to smack Cora on the thigh. "SHUT UP, I'M WATCHING THIS."

Cora knew where the key to the liquor cabinet was, so Stiles and Lydia have grownup drinks now, for values of "grownup drinks" that equal "JD and the rest of the iced tea in the fridge." Stiles is already nostalgic for Arbor Mist; it doesn't taste too bad, a few glasses in, and it's wine soda, how cool is that? Fusion cuisine. A fusion beverage, yeah.

"Maybe you should have some water," Jen says. "Didn't you learn to drink at college?"

"This is an emergency," Lydia says very seriously. "Now be quiet."

—

Jen takes Lydia's car keys, makes them drink approximately five gallons of water each, and convinces them put on _Heathers_ after they finish _Black Widow_. "This has explosions, humor, and strong women," she says. "Universal appeal."

"Are they hot, though?" Isaac says from Stiles's lap.

Lydia snores against Stiles's arm.

—

Derek makes them eggs and bacon and English muffins for breakfast, with a healthy side of judgment. Jen makes coffee. Isaac makes Bloody Marys.

"You're my favorite," Stiles says through a mouthful of bacon and tomato juice. "Have my babies."

Cora chokes on her drink; Isaac pounds her on the back, unfazed.

"Maybe Isaac should take a bartending course," Lydia suggests, dragging her fork through her eggs. Her hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and she's wearing one of Cora's workout shirts, tight spandex that's stretched out around her chest. Despite the terrible, terrible hangover, she is still one of Stiles's favorite people.

"Maybe not," Derek says, sitting down another plate of muffins in front of them.

—

After brunch, Lydia puts on her Gucci sunglasses and braves the sunlight, leaving her DVDs on the coffee table as a pointed promise and/or threat. Isaac leaves for the afternoon shift at Deaton's. Scott and Allison show up a little while later, shove Stiles back onto the pack bed, and drape themselves over him.

"I feel like I'm lying in state," Stiles says. Allison's eyes are closed, head tucked under one of Stiles's arms, and Scott's on his back on the other side, playing Plants Vs. Zombies, occasionally elbowing Stiles with undue force. Stiles told Rosa about the pack, of course: not werewolves, just, the pack, how he had all these friends so close they were like family, where you love them even when you don't like them. Rosa's a year ahead, going to study abroad at Cambridge in the fall, so it's not even like they don't like each other, or—it's just, it's stupid, how things don't work out. It feels extra stupid right now, when he's surrounded by people who have survived horror after horror to be here, curled around him, and this time there's nothing Stiles can do.

Jen drifts over, sits down at the head of the bed and ruffles his hair. "You _are_ lying in state. First breakups are terrible. I lost ten pounds when I got dumped by this guy in high school, spent three weeks in bed crying all the time and reading Graham Greene."

" _Graham Greene?_ " Derek calls out from the laundry closet.

"Yeah, I was sixteen, stop judging me," Jen says.

Stiles drags his arm out from under Scott to cover his eyes. "Stop being so coupley, I want to puke."

"Uh, yeah, wine hangover," Allison says; Jen pats Stiles's shoulder gently.

Cora comes out of nowhere and tackles Stiles's legs. "Now you know how I feel," she says.

—

Lydia drove both of them over last night, so Jen drives Stiles home. His house is in between her apartment and Safeway, so they stop there for some stuff she didn't buy in werewolf quantity last night. "Derek always uses the cheapest scent-free shit he can buy in bulk," she says, hovering over some organic, high efficiency, lavender- and gardenia-scented stuff for a moment before she goes with gardenia. "I understand why, but it's so boring, and it's hard on delicates—"

"Yeah, I get that," Stiles says, although he doesn't own any delicates. Sometimes it's just nice to have stuff that—smells good, that's your own, to put your mark on something.

Jen makes him get in his own line when they go to checkout, because she doesn't want anyone to think she's buying boxed wine for someone underage. Stiles doesn't protest. He has a basket full of normal stuff—milk, bananas, decaf coffee, toilet paper—that he takes through self-checkout, putting up with the inevitable whining of the machine when he makes it weigh his produce. The first time Stiles ever went grocery shopping with Rosa, it gave him an ridiculous thrill to stand with her while she fussed with her rainbow chard and tried to get a stubborn box of blackberries to scan, like this was somehow a sign that they were serious, that their groceries could share the same basket and checkout aisle. Rosa paid for his kombucha with her debit card and told him not to worry about it. He carried two full reusable satchels back to her apartment, coasting on cloud nine.

"You look serious," Jen says, shoving a paper bag into her trunk. "Deep thoughts about toilet paper?"

"I can never decide between Angel Soft and Charmin," Stiles says.

There are four rolls of Scott tissue nested between Jen's massive first-aid kit and her groceries. "My butt's not that picky," Jen says. Her cheeks are pink, but it's hot out; she's hard to read sometimes.

Stiles sits his bag on the other side and braces it with a discarded pair of running shoes. "My asshole is a delicate flower," he says.

"Sure," Jen says, arching an eyebrow.

—

Stiles puts the milk into the fridge and tosses the bananas on the counter to ripen before he runs upstairs. He spent the whole car ride trying not to think about it, popped a semi as soon as he was safely inside. This is—wrong, it's so wrong, he and Rosa were still together thirty-seven hours ago, everything was normal, but now he's fallen back into the trap of his high school fantasies, wondering, thinking, _Derek doesn't take in the ass, Derek doesn't take it in the ass_ and _but maybe Jen does?_ He flops onto his bed, unbuttons, unzips, and pushes down his pants in one sharp motion, barely manages to tug his boxers down before he's stroking himself, too hard and too fast and too dry. It only takes him a minute or two to get off, shooting come all over his shirt as he whines and trembles, whole body shaking.

Is this what rebounding feels like? Does it count if Jen and Derek fucked him first?

 _I need boner advice,_ he texts to Scott; he doesn't realize until she replies that his shaking fingers added in someone else, too.

 _LOL,_ Erica says. _wrap it b4 u tap it batman._ Then: _or jerk off we all know you do it like five times a day._

 _Stop_ , Stiles texts back furiously. _Stop while you're ahead._

 _Use it or lose it 0:) 0:) >:)_, Scott says, because he's a bro.

Who's probably getting some right now.

Stiles puts his head in his hands and groans.

—

"You're taking this one hard, son," his dad says at dinner. "She was really something special, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about Rosa," Stiles says, poking at his turkey meatloaf with a fork. He's the worst person in the entire world. Also, he now understands why Scott got a tattoo as a reward for not contacting Allison all summer.

"Right," Dad says. Then he gets up and comes over to give Stiles a big, back-slapping hug.

—

Jen isn't teaching summer school this year, so she spends a lot of time hanging around the loft, reading books and eating the day-old pastries Erica brings home from work. Stiles ends up over there a lot, too, noodling around his computer or paging through Peter's creepy magic books that Derek won't let him take home. For all that happened there at the beginning, for all that three werewolves live there now, it's a pretty peaceful place. Homey. There's always someone around.

Stiles never thought of Derek as particularly domestic, before, but he works from home doing medical transcription and spends most of his free time doing random stuff around the loft. Not buying real dishes or curtains or anything like that, but mending the sag in the couch and fixing leaky pipes and bleaching towels until they come out pristine white. (Stiles mostly uses beach towels. He sees no reason in having something that shows stains easily when he can have Iron Man.) Supposedly, Derek has enough money to buy a house and five Porsches, but he drives a soccer mom car and mended the giant hole in his wall by hand.

Derek also likes to heat up Trader Joe's entrees on the stove and make out with Jen in the kitchen. Sometimes they go upstairs in the middle of the afternoon and Stiles puts on his headphones. There's no privacy around Isaac and Cora, so maybe it doesn't make any difference to them, that Stiles can—hear them. Or that he wants to. He listens to really loud techno music instead, which is approaching Derek Hale levels of self-denial, but, whatever, he does it anyway. Then jerks off when he gets home.

At least it's taking his mind off things?

—

Charmin is on huge, like, mega-sale at Safeway, which is Stiles's only explanation for why he ends up buying a 12-pack and taking it to the loft. "This stuff is a revelation," he says to Isaac when Isaac shoots him some pure sarcasm in the form of Blue Steel. "Try it."

"It's Charmin," Boyd says. He and Isaac are both flopped belly-down on the bed; it looks like Stiles interrupted them playing GTA.

"Thanks," Derek says, coming out of nowhere to take the toilet paper. He gives Stiles a really intent look. "That was nice of you."

Stiles smiles and looks at the floor so he doesn't say anything about butts.

—

Not that he's looked at Jen's that much. Or Derek's. Just—they're very attractive people, with attractive everything, that's all.

—

"Hey," Stiles says to Jen, the next time they're both at the loft. They've camped out in opposite corners of the couch, Jen's feet curled under her and Stiles's legs stretched out onto the pack bed. She's reading a book; he's been trying to do the same for half an hour, getting tenser and tenser by the minute. "Um."

"Yes?" she says. When he doesn't answer right away, Jen slides a bookmark between the pages and shuts her book ( _Linden Hills_ ), looks up at him expectantly. "You okay?"

"Uh." Stiles stalls. He's—okay, he's not smooth, but he's asked some people out, he should be able to— "I think you told me you liked things in your butt."

Something upstairs falls over: Derek must be home.

"You bought me toilet paper," Jen says.

"We could forget we ever had this conversation, too," Stiles says quickly. "I mean. If you want."

"Are you, um—" Jen looks down at her lap; her cheeks are _definitely_ flushed this time. "Offering?"

"Were you?" Stiles says.

Jen's quiet for a long moment. "Derek," she says softly, and then, a little louder. "I didn't—but I, I could be. If Derek wants—"

Derek comes down the staircase, half tripping over his own feet. He looks—freaked out. Which is not how Stiles was hoping this would go.

"Hi." Stiles gives him a little wave.

"You should, uh—" Derek says, pauses. "Come over. For—dinner? on Saturday?"

"Yeah," Jen says. She reaches over to squeeze Stiles's shoulder, not taking her eyes off Derek. "That sounds good."

—

"I think I have a date," Stiles says to Lydia when she answers the doorbell.

"Is this about feelings?" she asks, frowning and blocking the doorway with her body. The fact that she's wearing a bikini distracts him for two seconds.

"It was fine when we were just having sex!" Stiles says. Maybe a little too loudly. "I'm not ready for this! My heart is still broken! This is a serious problem here!"

Lydia sighs. "You _think_ you have a date." Then she frowns. "Who've you been—Isaac?"

"I—no—what?" Stiles stares at her. "Come on, Isaac and Cora have been hooking up all year. We just don't talk about it. Because it makes them weird and violent."

"We can talk about feelings if you explain this and make me a drink," Lydia allows. She steps back to let him inside.

—

Lydia has a special blender that's just for margaritas; Stiles is not sure why he didn't already know this. He makes two huge ones with the lime juice in the fridge and a healthy dose of Patron, barely remembering to salt the rims of the glasses before he pours the slush inside. Then he carries them outside to the pool, where Lydia is sunning herself on one of those pool chair recliners.

"You didn't put Cointreau in this," Lydia says after she takes a sip. "Do you not know how to mix a margarita, Stiles?"

"Look, we mostly eat brownies or drink PBR at school," Stiles says. The margarita tastes fine to him, if on the sour side.

"There are lines on the pitcher," Lydia says.

Stiles is above lines, he colors outside the lines, okay. Also, there's a lot of tequila in this and the only thing Stiles has eaten today is Hot Pockets for breakfast. "Derek and Jen invited me over for sex. But, like, after dinner."

Lydia eyes him skeptically. "So, they invited you for dinner."

"Derek invited me over to dinner," Stiles corrects her. "I sort of invited myself over for sex. But Jen started it."

"You're going to have to start from the beginning," Lydia says. She holds out her glass. "Put this back in the blender and fix it."

—

Drinking tends to make Stiles handsy around people he trusts, which is possibly why Lydia has been assuming he and Isaac are something more than very cuddly friends. Isaac and Cora don't really touch each other in front of people, but that's probably because Cora is generally averse to physical contact aside from punching people, a position which Stiles respects.

"I don't know how I didn't know this." Lydia daintily laps some salt from the rim of her glass. "Are there any other secret hookups I should know about?"

"Isaac thinks you and Erica are banging," Stiles says.

Lydia nods. "Sometimes," she says. "When we're bored."

"Whoa," Stiles says, tilting his head against the back of the pool chair. The world gets a little spinny. He decides to get some water while he still has use of his legs.

"I don't know what the big deal is," Lydia says when he gets back. "It's—it's just sex, okay."

"Derek and Jen are, like—" Stiles makes some motion with his fingers that's supposed to indicate whatever they are, close but with mysteriously separate lives, nothing that Stiles's experience has equipped him to understand. "You know. It's not like if I was hooking up with Scott and Allison. That would be a bro hookup."

"You sort of did, that one time," Lydia reminds him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, which is a mistake; he takes a long drink of water from his tumbler after his head stops screaming. "Allison devirginized me in the car while Scott stood lookout, _to save my life_ , I don't think that counts as a threesome."

"He could probably hear everything," Lydia says.

"He wasn't in the _car_ ," Stiles says.

Lydia shrugs. She seems to be holding her liquor better than Stiles tonight. "Technicality."

"Still." Stiles lets his fingers trail down the ridged plastic of the tumbler. "Bros. That was a bro thing. This is not a bro thing."

"Derek likes you," Lydia says, like that's no big deal, to put it into words. "A lot."

"Jen and I are friends." Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. "Derek and I are—not. And, I really—I've always—but I _like_ Jen, I don't want to, I don't want to fuck that up. Not even for super hot sex and _she asked me to put my dick in her ass_."

"Implied," Lydia says.

"Why did I buy her toilet paper? That is absolutely the weirdest thing I have ever done in my entire life," Stiles moans, bringing up his arm so he can cover his face.

"No, you bought me a TV, that was definitely weirder," Lydia says.

"I bought Rosa flowers for Valentine's Day," Stiles says. "And I got Sam and Jo chocolate, even though we weren't boning anymore. And I gave everyone on my floor Spongebob valentines."

Lydia reaches over to poke Stiles in the ribs. "Just talk to them about your feelings. Sober. No miming."

—

After half an hour of talking himself down from a panic attack, Stiles dresses the same way he usually does in the full heat of summer: t-shirt, thrifted cords, his red Chucks with their duct tape patches. He picks up some fancy grapefruit soda from Trader Joe's and one of those lemon tart things, then spends the entire drive to the loft wondering if that's too much citrus, if it's possible to have too much citrus in a meal, what if Derek made Hawaiian chicken or something. Supposedly pineapple makes your jizz taste great, but probably not fast enough for an after-dinner blowjob.

Stiles hasn't had sex since the end of the semester. He's going to come as soon as he takes off his pants. Or before. Everything is terrible.

Jen answers the door, fully-clothed this time. "Oh, how nice," she says as she accepts her tribute. "This is great. Derek made pizza—"

"Frozen pizza," Derek says, coming out of the kitchen. He looks worse than Stiles feels, somewhere between _my entire family is dead_ and _you're going to cut off my arm_. "It's not fancy or anything."

"Is this a date?" Stiles blurts out. "Because, um, if everybody is equally traumatized, we could, like, pretend it's not a date."

Jen and Derek exchange a long look. "You just broke up with your girlfriend," Derek says eventually. "I know it's not—this isn't—"

"But I _like_ you," Stiles says, desperate, gutted. He really, really does. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about Rosa, who is wonderful and is going to have a great year abroad and probably send Stiles postcards that he'll put on his mini-fridge, but he, shit—he _loves_ Derek with his ridiculous permanent sadface and his constant attempts to fix everything even when he's terrible at it, and then there's Jen, who is funny and brilliant and somehow willing to pull Stiles into her orbit, too. "I want it to be a date, okay. I don't—I like both of you. I don't know why you like me, or maybe you just want to be friends with benefits or whatever, that's okay, but, um."

"You're away at school most of the year," Jen points out. "You should be able to do all that stuff, you know. Experiment. Figure out what you like."

"I can do that, too," Stiles says. "We don't have to, like, get triple married or anything. Just. I don't want to pretend that I just—want to do you."

"It's not great pizza," Derek says, coming closer. He looks less awful, although he's still shy, overly gentle when he puts his hand on Stiles's shoulder. "We could order more later."

"I know for a fact that you have at least three bags of potstickers in your freezer," Stiles says, leaning into Jen when she comes over to wrap both of them in a hug. "We'll work it out."

—

It turns out that Jen wants both of them to fuck her at the same time.

"What?" she says when Stiles gapes at her. "Don't look so shocked. It's not like you've never—"

"I can legitimately say this is not a scenario that I have ever imagined in my wildest dreams," Stiles says. "Not that I'm not okay with it. Um."

He's seen some double penetration porn before, mostly by accident; none of the women involved looked like they were actually having a good time getting pounded in camera-friendly positions, which was not a turn-on. Also, all of them seemed to involve the two guys in question trying to avoid their balls touching. Stiles has no problem with Derek's balls touching his. Not that he has a thing for balls, generally speaking, but he might if they're Derek's.

"Does it feel good?" he asks. "I mean, it didn't look like it did. When I watched stuff."

"We've tried it with toys," Jen says, unhooking her bra. "It's, um, it works for me."

Derek ducks his head, shy. They're downstairs, still, on the pack bed again, with Jen and Derek sitting up on the bed and Stiles lying next to them. Stiles reaches over to touch Derek's thigh, pat it reassuringly. "Is this weird for you?"

"Sort of," Derek says. "That doesn't mean—I like it with you, and Jen, but I didn't—I didn't do much. Before. I don't want to hurt you."

Stiles has been through enough shit now that he knows better than to feed Derek some false platitude. Instead, he grabs Derek's arm and tugs until Derek lies down next to him, lets Stiles spoon him and hold him tight while Jen shimmies off her flowered cotton panties. She lies down on Derek's other side after that, strokes his side and murmurs, "It's okay, baby," until he relaxes between them. Derek closes his eyes rubs his cheek against Stiles's. He looks like he feels… safe.

Which makes Stiles go all tight and warm in his chest. Jen's smiling when he meets her eyes.

—

"I want to try a thing, too," he says to Jen, after they've cuddled a while. "You, um, washed, right?"

"Yeah," she says. "You going to open me up, or you want Derek to do it?"

"Me," Stiles says automatically. "He probably gets to do it all the time."

Jen rolls on her back, stretches lazily. "Oh, usually I do."

Stiles is not even going to think about that. He'll save it for later. Whenever he gets around to jerking off over something that isn't the actual porn that is his _life_.

Derek grumbles a little when Stiles climbs over him, like he's disgruntled that Stiles and his girlfriend have interrupted his unplanned snuggle party for their premeditated sex date, but he can deal. "You, um," Stiles says. "Make out or something, I'll just, I'll just be back here."

He finds the lube, sits it next to him for later. Jen makes a soft noise when he parts her cheeks, a sharp exhale, like she knows what's coming next. Stiles grins to himself for a moment before he leans in and licks. Yeah, he's totally going to blow her mind.

The first time he did this to someone, he thought it was going to be super gross, but it's not, really. Jen's asshole is tight and clean and smells like soap. Stiles isn't adventurous enough to fuck her down here with his tongue, but a little open-mouthed kissing, he can do. He starts with a few broad swipes of his tongue, pausing between them so she can get used to the sensation, before he starts full on sucking and licking while she moans and trembles. He reaches out, fumbles without seeing, until he finds Derek's hand and shoves it vaguely in the direction of Jen's clit. Threesomes are great. So many extra hands.

Stiles keeps going until Jen reaches back and pushes him off, saying, "Okay, okay, that's—I need a break, it's too—"

"Uh," he says, scooting back to the edge of the bed. "You guys—you just keep going, okay? I need to brush my teeth."

"Seriously?" Derek says. "You're going to—"

"I'm not making out with you and Jen's butt at the same time," Stiles says primly. "That's gross. Have you not seen _Clerks II_?"

"I'm a werewolf!" Derek calls after him, which does not even make sense.

—

Derek and Jen are full-on fucking when Stiles gets back, which, okay, he did tell them to keep busy, that's fair. "Come on," he says, throwing himself on the bed next to them. "I want orgasms. Squeeze me in."

Jen actually giggles. "Okay," she says, hips stilling. "Fine. You—you have to go in first, okay? In my ass, because you're—um—"

"I do not have a monster werewolf dick," Stiles interprets. "I got it."

Derek pulls out and just watches them creepily (actually, it's really hot) while Stiles works his fingers and then his dick into Jen's ass. She's super, super tight, and it takes all of Stiles's self-restraint not to just go off like a rocket right then. But he made it through not eating dinner. And eating out Jen's ass. And being within ten feet of Derek and talking about _feelings_. Stiles can do this.

"I can't do this," he groans when Derek pushes into Jen's cunt. They're lying down, Jen pressed between them, and she's so slick and hot around him, and Stiles can feel Derek moving in her, too, fucking her with shallow thrusts like he's afraid she's going to break. When Stiles reaches around to touch her clit, she cries out and shoves herself down on both of them, and that's it for Stiles. He's done. His brain is leaking out his ears. He sees actual stars that look suspiciously like a Windows 95 screensaver.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Derek says, putting his fingers over Stiles's limp ones, and grinds down in little tight circles until Jen throws her arms around his neck and starts shaking her head, wordless. Derek gives one last thrust and, holy fucking shit, just comes and comes and comes, one long shudder that seems to go on forever.

After that, Stiles pulls out carefully and just manages to tie the condom off and wrap it in a tissue before he passes out. Hopefully he won't step on it when he gets out of bed.

—

"I cried," Jen says cheerfully over dinner later. "That was amazing."

"That's a really disturbing metric for awesome sex, just so you know," Stiles says through a mouthful of potsticker.

Jen kicks his ankle under the table. "You love it."

"Let's do it again as soon as humanly possible," Stiles agrees.

Derek chews his potsticker slowly and deliberately. When he catches Stiles's eye, he gives him a small, warm smile.

**Author's Note:**

> There's one more after this, I think. :D
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Not A Bro Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/878073) by [Jinxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxy/pseuds/Jinxy)




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